


A Team Effort

by Mertisal



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cute, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hopefully not too much, Humor, Some angst, Team as Family, just something sweet for blitz' b-day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertisal/pseuds/Mertisal
Summary: Blitz is a terrible liar, but he's still trying his best to keep a secret from his team. They aren't sure what it is, but they're going to find out, because it's their job to help a friend in need.The secret... isn't exactly what they were expecting, but they make it work.Written for Blitz' birthday (April 2).





	A Team Effort

**Author's Note:**

> Blitz is my favourite character in Siege, hands down. So I decided to write him a nice, cute little one-shot for his birthday... but then I wrote the better part of 10,000 words and I don't know what happened. I took some liberties with characterisation (because there is barely any in canon) to add some life to these guys (and gals)!
> 
> (The formatting fairy messed up some of the spacing between paragraphs, but it should be perfectly readable)
> 
> Enjoy!

Blitz was shit at keeping secrets. 

 

Alright, so maybe that was being a little unfair to the man. 

 

Blitz gave excellent advice (most of the time, anyway), and so everyone on base had confided in him at least once. If pressed about why this person had been crying, or why so-and-so wasn't talking much, he remained steadfastly mute. He would rather tell a terrorist top-secret intel than lose the confidence of his teammates. 

 

So, Blitz was actually good at keeping  _ other people's  _ secrets. His own, though…

 

That was what amazed Bandit about the man. Blitz would never tell Six about Bandit’s own, dubiously legal habits, but yet here he was, unable to keep a straight face under the questioning gaze of a friend. 

 

“So… nothing's going on?” Bandit asked again, leaning easily against the doorframe and casually blocking Blitz’ entrance into the GSG 9’s room. 

 

“Ha… Nope! Not a thing, nothing’s… Nothing is happening! No need to worry! Everything is perfect--perfectly under control. Not that there's a reason it would  _ out _ of control, of course…”

 

Bandit just stepped aside to let the poor man in, shaking his head at his leader’s hopeless rambling. He really ought to teach him how to lie at some point. And be less naïve. And not get shot so much. 

 

Blitz hurriedly rushed passed, still muttering denials under his breath, and made a beeline straight for his personal storage locker. He fumbled loudly with the lock, swore, and then there was a loud  _ clang! _ as he punched the top hard enough to dent it. 

 

If the uncharacteristic air of panic about the man didn't tip Bandit off about something being up, then the violence certainly would. Even IQ, face down on her bed with music blasting from her headphones loud enough you could sing along, started at the sound, staring at Blitz with nervous eyes. 

 

“Hey,” Bandit started gently, quickly walking over to lay a hand on Blitz’ shoulder. The sheer tension and faint tremble he could feel under his fingers was disconcerting, so he softened his voice even more. “You don't have to tell us what's going on, alright? But can we at least help a little?”

 

“Can't get it open,” Blitz said lamely, his arms limp at his sides. Bandit couldn't see his expression, but IQ did, and whatever she saw made her rip her headphones out and dart up from her bed. 

 

“I can open it for you,” she offered, a wavering smile on her lips. “I won't look at anything, I promise.” When Blitz nodded, she got to work, fiddling with the lock and something on her wrist. It was certainly a strange way to pick a lock, Bandit thought. He would've just smashed it to bits with a hammer. 

 

Once the lock finally clicked open, Bandit felt Blitz relax under his hand, though he could still read stress in the line of his neck and shoulders. 

 

“Thank you so much,” he managed, immediately rushing to rummage through his belongings. Both Bandit and IQ were careful to not accidentally see something, though it sounded like he was after some papers. Why keep papers in a storage locker? Why weren't they with his files?

 

But IQ and Bandit could only share a look of mutual confusion as the younger man, triumphant in his search, frantically bolted from the room with a vague warning that he might be out late. 

 

“Out late?” IQ whispered quietly, as though there were people around to overhear. Blitz was  _ never _ out late. And he certainly never went off base with such a short, half-panicked notice. 

 

That was the moment that curious concern officially shifted to true worry. 

 

\-----------------------

 

Jäger almost didn't believe them when he heard. But once Blitz didn't return by the typical curfew, he joined IQ and Bandit in the common area with their brooding. The other operatives noticed the lack of Blitz, but, sensing the Germans’ dark mood, wisely decided to abstain from interfering.

 

“Family issue?” IQ posited, staring blankly into her mug. The coffee had long since grown cold. 

 

“No, unless it's something  _ really _ major. He told us when that one aunt of his got sick, remember? Damn near tears when he got the call.” Jäger fidgeted with his sleeves, the idleness getting to him. He didn't even have a gadget of some kind to fiddle with; all he could do was wait for Blitz’ return and make wild guesses as to his whereabouts. 

 

Bandit remained silent as the other two bounced hopeless theories off each other. The conversation was accomplishing nothing but stressing everyone out and making them look like lunatics in front of their colleagues, who had begun to look over at the three with worry at the building hysterics in Jäger's voice. Once Jäger suggested that maybe Blitz was attempting to uncover the lost treasure of a long dead, pirate ancestor, Bandit decided to step in. 

 

“We have to wait for him to get back. If he's calm and happy, then we forget about the papers and stop worrying. If he's still stressed…” Bandit let them finish that thought for themselves. 

 

“Then we go through his family history to see if he might be haunted by a vengeful spirit,” Jäger said with enough conviction that Bandit wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

 

“Or ask him what's wrong,” IQ suggested, once again proving why she was Bandit’s favourite. “He can't keep secrets. Some pressure from us, and he'll spill.”

 

The plan, bare as it was, was completed, and the three went back to their shared room to await their leader’s return. 

 

\---------------------

 

When Blitz finally did show, it was at nearly four in the morning. Only Bandit was fully awake, though IQ and Jäger roused quickly at Blitz’ entrance.

 

“You're still up?” He sounded confused, and the papers he had taken with him were nowhere to be found. There were beads of moisture visible in the corners of his eyes, and thin, angry red marks went up and down both forearms. “You didn't need to wait for me. I'm flattered, though! Really--”

 

“What's wrong, Blitz?” Jäger started, subtle as always. “And what happened to your arms?”

 

The younger man’s expression shut down, and he jerked his arms behind his back. “Nothing's going on! Everything is okay, just… Why would you think something is happening? Clearly, nothing is okay--I mean, nothing is  _ wrong _ ! That's what I said.” He swallowed hard, blinking quickly and avoiding eye contact. “Nothing is wrong,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

 

“We're… We're just worried,” IQ said quietly, moving closer. Bandit avoided getting nearer; two people in arm’s reach was supportive, but three was edging towards threatening. 

 

“Just know that we… that you can tell us anything,” Jäger said, putting a warm hand on Blitz’ shoulder. 

 

“Thank you, but really, you don't need to worry about me.” He managed a smile, voice somewhat unsteady. “But let's get some sleep, alright? It's too early for this. Even Thatcher’d tell us to go to bed.”

 

\--------------------

 

“Did you see his face? He was barely holding back tears.”

 

“Something definitely happened while he was out. Something  _ bad _ . And asking didn't help any. I was so sure he'd tell.”

 

“This is the longest he's ever kept something from us. This is… If you weren't worrying, now’s the time.”

 

“At least our next step is clear.”

 

“Hm? Ask again? I don't think that'll work. I was thinking we should start looking into the Mob. The Russian one. I'm sure ‘Chanka would know something…”

 

“No, idiot, we start following him around. He has the situational awareness of a ham sandwich, so even you two should remain undetected.”

 

“Hey! Don't lump me in with him, Bandit. I'm supposed to be your favourite, remember?”

 

\-----------------

 

Blitz was, just as Bandit said, hopelessly oblivious. It was a miracle he had managed to keep a secret for as long as he did. Jäger kept tabs on him in the morning, watched him clean and maintain his pistol and shield, and overheard a pleasant, if one-sided, conversation with Rook. Who knew the Frenchman was that into botany. 

 

Bandit took late morning and early afternoon, which consisted primarily of shooting practice, more gun maintenance, and some unarmed sparring and shield drills with Monty. Nothing was more dull than watching two people practice the exact same lunge-block motion dozens of times over, but at least they were shirtless. 

 

It was IQ’s block of time, afternoon and early evening, that was actually interesting, though not at first. It was mostly unstructured free time, but instead of spending it as usual (socialising, cooking, relaxing with his teammates), Blitz paced restlessly between the common room and the hallway, checking his phone for the time every few minutes. And while it was certainly anxiety inducing, it was also incredibly boring to watch someone slowly descend into a panic attack. Just as IQ was going to intervene, because inaction was getting to be too much, Blitz all but bolted from the room.

 

_ Left the common area. Heading to side exit via WS 3. Am in pursuit, _ her text read. Jäger and Bandit quickly excused themselves from prior engagements and made their way to the side exit.

 

Blitz moved with a single-minded intensity. It made keeping up with him difficult as he powered through hallways and cut corners, though remaining undetected was almost comically easy. Bandit was right, even Jäger could manage this. 

 

He burst through the side door to the outside without even a backwards glance, keeping to the walls as he made his way to a secluded, shady (in both senses) corner where overgrown hedges partially hid… something. But it was most definitely the cause for his anxiety.

 

Blitz had just started pushing the bushes back when Bandit and Jäger slipped outside, breathing slightly harder, and flanked IQ. 

 

Jäger was the one to finally speak. “Blitz?” The man in question froze, stiffened, and turned halfway around, a strange expression on his face. “Is… Is this what you're worried about?”

 

Blitz faced them fully, clasping and unclasping his hands. “Don't get me in trouble?” His voice skipped on the last word. 

 

Bandit and IQ took the supportive stance by Blitz’ side while Jäger rifled through the bushes. Blitz made a few more vague requests, reaching out helplessly and grasping at Bandit’s jacket. IQ looped her arms around his neck and made soft assurances, though one shared look with Bandit was all it took to spike her anxiety. 

 

Aside from Blitz’ uncharacteristically panicked and tearful behaviour, there was one other source for stress. Clearly, he was hiding some sort of contraband, it was only a matter of what. She didn't think it would be drugs (those were more Bandit’s thing), but the other options flying through her head were much, much worse. 

 

Stolen weapons, operatives’ real identities, Smoke’s canisters…

 

“Her name is Magpie,” Jäger said triumphantly, hoisting something out of the undergrowth. “And she's mine because she's the best.”

 

Bandit was ready to smack his teammate for the non sequitur when he saw what the man was cradling in his arms.

 

A kitten.

 

A fuzzy little thing, with big, golden eyes and twitchy ears, and it purred loudly when Jäger ruffled its fur. It was such a perfect balance of black and white that Bandit wasn't sure if it was black with white splotches or the other way around. 

 

“You can't name her after your ADS!” Blitz protested, snapping out of panic. “That's animal cruelty.”

 

“Cat,” Bandit said without inflection. “You're big secret is… a cat.”

 

“Yeah, but you know how Six is with pets on base, so… I kept her out here. Sorry for not telling you.” Blitz smiled sheepishly. “But I didn't want to get you in trouble too.”

 

“Cats,” Jäger said, like he was saying something profound. “There's three more. One for each.”

 

Bandit darted over to check the bushes, but IQ remained at Blitz’ side. “Didn't he just say that Six doesn't let pets on base? We can't take them.” She shook her head. “Bandit, tell Jäger I'm right.”

 

“This is Blackie and I love her,” Bandit whispered, holding a kitten tightly to his chest. “If anyone comes between us, they die.” His cat, because no would dare take it from him now, was short-furred and pure black except for her white muzzle. She had the same golden eyes as Magpie. 

 

“In that case,” IQ said, moving to peer into the hedge. There was a small collection of boxes and cat toys, and, as Jäger had said, two more kittens.

 

One was predominantly black with a few mottled patches of orange and cream, and the other was long-furred and a solid, dark blue-grey. Both had those same round, gold eyes. 

 

She picked the both of them up. The tortoiseshell righted herself immediately, perching on IQ’s forearm and peering about curiously. The grey kitten flopped happily into the crook of her elbow, limply nuzzling at her side. 

 

“This--” she gestured with her head to the grey cat “--is Donner.” She unceremoniously dumped her into Blitz’ arms. He barely managed to catch the kitten, squeaking in shock and fumbling for a few, fear-inducing moments before everything was under control and Donner was cuddled up against his chest. “She's yours. My cat is Spectre, because Jäger forced my hand.”

 

“The vet people said that the grey one was a boy,” Blitz said, gazing with soft eyes at his cat. “And you don't get to name mine!”

 

“You're Blitz, so if you get a pet, it has to be named Donner. That's the law,” Jäger announced, brushing passed the others to return indoors. 

 

“And you were going to name yours Donner anyway. We  _ know _ you.” Bandit arranged Blackie so that she was sitting on his shoulder like some kind of parrot-wannabe. “Jäger, what are you doing?”

 

“Going inside,” he said, as though Thatcher wouldn't descend on him the moment he so much as heard the faintest mew. “Don't look at me like that! I'm great at hiding things. Better than Blitz at least.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“We can keep the cats in the GR, and I know a great way there.” He casually threw open the door. “We just go through the old storage attached to WS 3 and then the maintenance closet. Works every time.”

 

With Jäger clearly about to go on ahead with or without them, the others quickly lined up behind him, shushing the cats and nervously looking both ways as they reentered the building. 

 

Jäger lead them with easy overconfidence, humming tunelessly as he walked casually through the first hallway, which was thankfully empty. He took a right turn without even checking if anyone was there, merry and totally unconcerned. IQ compulsively checked her wrist, hoping to see the familiar glowing outlines of Spectre, but instead she only nearly dislodged the cat of the same name. Blitz was having trouble with Donner, who was twisting and turning in his arms trying to take in the new sights and smells of the base. 

 

“If one of these kittens makes noise, we're done,” Bandit hissed, Blackie baring her teeth to mimic his scowl. “If this doesn't work out, I'm breaking your fingers.”

 

“Relax!” Jäger said, opening an old door labelled “ **DEFUNCT STORAGE: KEEP OUT”.** “Just follow my lead and nothing bad will happen. When am I ever wrong?”

 

“Often,” IQ said softly even as she stepped through the door. “You are a great  _ engineer _ , but…”

 

“You're min-maxed for math and forgot to invest in common sense.” Just as he said that, Blitz briefly lost control of Donner and nearly face planted trying to get him to settle. “But we love you!” He audibly banged his shins on what appeared to be half a coffee table. 

 

Bandit and IQ shared a Look. 

 

“You'll want to watch out for clutter,” Jäger warned after Bandit nearly garrotted himself on some old Christmas lights. “And try to not get lost.”

 

A storage room was one of the last places that Bandit thought that he could get lost, but he very quickly took Jäger seriously. The room was filled almost completely with random crap, densely packed and stacked high to the ceiling like a failed game of Tetris. Broken furniture, sports equipment, and old projects abandoned and left to rust by the many gadgeteers formed a sort of cage that webbed out haphazardly from the entrance. Narrow paths had been carved out from the walls of garbage, and they ran off in every direction at random, twisting and winding like some hellish maze from the very worst of Bandit’s claustrophobic nightmares.

 

Jäger knew the way instinctively, or so they all hoped, and they were forced to trust him blindly as he strolled casually through the labyrinth, doubling back as the convoluted pathway looped around a worn out billiard table piled high with broken wrenches and illegal fireworks. He always managed to avoid the many hazards of the room; when Bandit was tripping on marbles or Blitz was nearly losing an eye to a rusty coat hanger or IQ was stubbing her toes on stacks of Russian to French dictionaries, Jäger remained unscathed, either through experience or sheer luck. 

 

Blissfully, they rushed out when Jäger found and opened the door to the hallway. “I will never do that again,” IQ said resolutely, stroking Spectre’s multicoloured fur for comfort. 

 

“I've been through a warzone, but that…  _ place _ was far more dangerous,” Blitz said, holding Donner close as the kitten tried to clamber down his legs.

 

“We gotta go through another closet now?” Bandit both asked and prompted, clearly edgy about being exposed. Blackie was curled up and huddled low to his shoulders, gold eyes flicking back and forth as though she were keeping watch. 

 

“It's just a maintenance closet.” Jäger was already opening the door, either ignoring or unaware of the shudders running through his fellow operatives. “Nothing in it but mops and bleach.”

 

The closet was actually organised (and truly did contain nothing but cleaning supplies), and so the four got through quickly, finding themselves very suddenly at their destination.

 

The GR, as the Germans liked to call it, was a sort of additional room directly adjacent and connected to their own quarters. What it's original purpose was, they had no idea; they only knew that they were the only ones to have one, and that it didn't show up on the building’s floorplan. They used it both for minor storage and general living space, as it allowed the four to spread out or simply socialise in a less cramped environment. 

 

How they got there from the other side of the building by walking through two closets was an utter mystery. IQ tried to map out their path in her head, but she gave up quickly and put the explanation down as a cross between “the building was designed by wizards” and “it was Jäger’s idea, what else would happen”.

 

“Be free!” Blitz all but threw Donner into the room, and the cat sniffed at the floor for a few moments before sitting at his feet and whining. “What? Now you want to be held? Too bad!” Blitz sat down on the round table in the middle of the room, and Donner happily leapt into his lap and rubbed his face into his stomach. 

 

The others followed suit, finding a place to sit in the sparsely furnished room and letting their new pets explore the unfamiliar territory. Spectre managed to get on top of the tall, lone cabinet in the corner and peered quizzically from her perch. Blackie lied down under that same cabinet, every now and then poking her face out to check on the humans in the room. Magpie wandered aimlessly, constantly veering off course as something new grabbed her attention until she finally ran into a wall and sat down. Donner was content to remain sprawled out in Blitz’ lap, purring loudly and begging with his eyes to be petted. 

 

“It was more than just cats,” Bandit said suddenly, startling even Donner. “Hiding cats outside doesn't explain the papers, or the tears.”

 

Blitz ducked his head, pulling Donner close to him. “Yeah, you're right. There was more.”

 

“Care to tell us?” IQ asked softly, remembering what happened just last night (that morning!) when they asked what was wrong. 

 

“Well, see,” Blitz started, but then trailed off. He ran his fingers nervously through Donner’s long fur, the kitten shifting and mewing happily at the attention. 

 

They waited, Jäger fiddling with his jacket zippers as even he began to feel the mounting tension. Finally, Blitz started talking. 

 

“I found the kittens a few weeks ago, outside while I was jogging. I couldn't find their mother, so I… took them in myself. I set up everything out by the side exit, but you already saw that.” He paused for a moment, took a breath, and then continued. “I borrowed Mute’s car to drive them to a vet’s office to get them fixed and vaccinated and everything. They gave me a discount because the cats were strays, and they gave me this paper to bring for future visits that has ownership and information on it. I needed it yesterday because…”

 

There was a shift in his posture, a general sort of loosening, and his eyes softened around the edges. The three other operatives instantly understood: he had just gone from Blitz, the seasoned counter-terrorist and ex-soldier who was considered a leader among his fellows, to Elias, a thirty-something from Bremen who couldn't get through a romantic movie without crying. 

 

Elias started up again. “There were five kittens. I found  _ five _ kittens. But the one… He was almost all white with a grey back. Really soft fur. The other day, though, I thought he was acting strangely, not as energetic. Yesterday, he was just… He looked really bad, was having trouble getting up, so I rushed in here to get the paper and then I got him to the vet, but I… I guess I was too slow. Funny, huh? Me being too slow for once.”

 

Jäger moved to stand next to Elias. Even though he wasn't that much taller, he practically towered over Elias, who was curled protectively around Donner. Marius (because they were all rapidly slipping into the softer sides of themselves) simply put a hand on the nape of his neck and said, “You gave him the best chance he could hope for, and I  _ know _ that you didn't let him die alone.”

 

Elias smiled sadly. “I was petting him the whole time.”

 

“Love and affection,” Dominic said, stroking Blackie when she leapt up beside him to better look after her humans. “It's everything anybody could wish for.”

 

“I just wish cats really did have nine lives,” Elias said, making an attempt to lighten the mood. It didn't exactly work, but the rest of them smiled anyway, Monika suppressing an exasperated sigh. Marius ruffled Elias’ cropped hair and patted his shoulder, reaching down to pet Donner as well. The young tom purred loudly. 

 

“We need to get their things from outside,” Monika noted, mentally planning what would go where. Spectre scaled down the cabinet and set down lightly near her owner’s feet, gold eyes staring up at her. 

 

“I'll get it,” Dominic said nonchalantly. At the others’ stares, he just shrugged a shoulder. “If people see you guys bringing in boxes of God knows what from outside, they'll flip. If they see me carrying boxes of unknown contents around at--” he checked his phone “--19:37, it's business as usual.”

 

“Is it that that late already?” Elias gaped. “Some shortcut  _ that _ was, Marius!”

 

“If we skip out on dinner, everyone's bound to get suspicious. Especially since you were so tense today, Eli,” Monika said. “Are you feeling up to eating in the canteen?” she asked him seriously, not wanting to push him. 

 

“I'm good, as long I'm not going alone.” Elias gently scooted Donner off his lap, much to the grey cat’s dismay. Magpie, in an attempt to comfort her sibling, trotted over and began licking at his ears, only to pause mid-lick to watch as Blackie prepared to pounce at Spectre’s tail. 

 

“You'll meet up with us there, won't you Domin…” Marius trailed off as he realised that Dominic left minutes ago. “Uh, so, will the cats be alright in here?”

 

“I don't see why not,” Monika replied, giggling as the three sisters tumbled in mock play as their confused brother tried desperately to stay out of the tussle. 

 

“What if they chew the wiring? Or get their tails stuck on something?” He suddenly stiffened with panic. “What if they got into the walls? Or the air vents!”

 

“Firstly, they're  _ kittens _ , not… whatever it is you think they are. Rats, maybe, or young children,” Monika said, rolling her eyes. 

 

Elias picked up right after her. “And secondly, the only one to have  _ ever  _ gotten stuck in one of these air vents was  _ you _ .” He stood, evidently having regained at least most of his composure. “I clearly remember Thermite and Sledge having to work together to get your sorry ass out.”

 

Marius waved him off. “I could've gotten out whenever I wanted.”

 

“Sure, sure.” Monika snickered. She double checked that both entrances to the GR were closed as the three left their hideaway and made their way to the canteen. 

 

\-------------------

 

Despite the military nature of the base, and the general roughness of its inhabitants, the food served was actually good. Maybe not great, and certainly not perfect, but still satisfying and all-around pleasant.

 

The Germans arrived to dinner later than usual (they preferred to be first, truthfully), but most operatives were still lingering, conversing and arguing and overall being loud and social. It made it easier for the three to get their food and sit at their usual spots unnoticed, which relieved both IQ and Jäger, who weren’t sure how well Blitz would handle some well-meaning questioning. They ate relatively quickly and quietly, enjoying the silent camaraderie, and hoping to get out before someone came over.

 

Of course, they had no such luck.

 

Montagne--good, wonderful, compassionate Montagne--settled in the seat next to the empty chair claimed by Bandit. The three Germans all greeted the Frenchman warmly (he’d saved all of their lives many times, after all) and nodded respectfully as the far more experienced operative turned his attention to Blitz.

 

“Hey, Monty, how are things?” the man in the spotlight asked, sounding like his normal, chipper self.

 

“I was going to ask you that,” Montagne said, carefully keeping his tone light and the pressure off. “You weren’t yourself today, while we were sparring.” The question remained unasked, but Monty’s big, caring eyes were a force unto themselves.

 

“Yeah, things were rough earlier, but everything’s good now,” Blitz said with a bright, genuine grin.

 

“Good.” Montagne smiled, and the rest of them smiled with him. “I hope problem wasn’t too serious. You seemed very shaken.” Once again, the question wasn’t truly asked, but Blitz was powerless to avoid it.

 

To stay out of trouble, he’d have to lie, but he was  _ Blitz _ , and lying to Monty was simply not kosher. IQ and Jäger found themselves mentally preparing to take over if Blitz faltered, but both hoped that he’d manage to deflect the question or come up with a nice, easy white lie.

 

They were all spared the agony.

 

“He accidently got caught in the middle of a prank between Jäger and I and thought there was bad blood between the three of us,” Bandit responded smoothly, as though he had always been a part of the conversation. He plopped himself casually down in his reserved seat, but still threw the French operative a polite dip of the head. “He worried himself sick thinking about what he might’ve done, but we got it all cleared up. No more stress, no more hassle.”

 

“It never occurred to me to talk to you guys,” Blitz noted, self-deprecating. He was careful to keep his statements truthful. “It probably would’ve made the whole thing a non-issue, but, well, we all have our days.”

 

“Indeed,” Montagne said with another smile, nodding slightly in acceptance of the cover story. He left without another word, only a small touch to Blitz’ shoulder in solidarity.

 

“Where’s your food?” Jäger asked Bandit, seeing as how the other man was empty-handed.

 

“Waste of time.”

 

“Food?” Jäger poked Bandit firmly, as though that would somehow check his sincerity. “How is eating a waste of time? We need food to live!”

 

“Actually,” Blitz said, in between bites, “Bandit  _ doesn’t _ need food. See, he gets all his energy from negative emotions, which he absorbs through the air via osmosis--”

 

IQ shoved his shoulder, trying to cover her eyes. “Please, please,  _ please  _ chew with your mouth closed.”

 

“But your disgust is Bandit’s food!”

 

“But I  _ don’t _  want to see  _ yours _ , Eli!”

 

\--------------------

 

Things went surprisingly smoothly after that. The cats, safe and hidden, were a sort of grounding force for the Germans. De-stressing after ops was faster, and they brought a certain sense of security and  _ home _ that worked wonders for morale. And, most important in Blitz’ humble opinion, the cats made them smile. It felt good, being able to enjoy something without any pressure or expectations and simply laugh and grin and be happy. The cats became a stable point that the four could orbit. 

 

No matter how hurt, or battered or bloody, the cats would always be there, waiting. 

 

That was the thought that ran, over and over, through Blitz’ head as he lied there, backed into a corner with his shield up. “Hey,” he muttered to himself, “at least since I lost my pistol I have a free hand to keep from bleeding out.” He chuckled, painfully and quietly, and increased pressure on the gunshot wound to his abdomen. 

 

The whole op had been a disaster from start to finish. 

 

It was bomb defusal, which wasn't his favourite, but there weren’t supposed to be many terrorists except for a few token guards. Quick and clean, it should have been, and every operative there was experienced: himself, Montagne, Sledge, Glaz, and Twitch. 

 

Key words: supposed to, should have.

 

At first, everything seemed fine enough. The handful of Masks guarding the bombs went down quickly (thanks to Sledge smashing their cover), and Twitch set up to defuse the bombs. The Masks were better armed than expected, though, and Montagne and Blitz found themselves threatened by explosives from damn near everyone. The jamming done to their comms was also unusual, but not unheard of. Still, it was minor compared to what was to come. 

 

With the others keeping watch, Blitz and Glaz struck off to clear out any remaining hostiles (though there weren't  _ supposed _ to be any), the sniper naturally sticking to the outside while Blitz cautiously scoped out the abandoned hallways. 

 

It was then that they all realised their intel had been very,  _ very _ wrong. 

 

All at once, the hallways were swarming with Masks. Blitz raised his shield to flash, and he vaguely heard Glaz begin to pick people off. It didn't matter, because before he could blind them, Blitz was deaf, flat on his back, and one storey down.

 

The floor had been blasted out from under him. 

 

Everything ached from the fall, and he moved quickly to get his shield up to protect himself. He was slow, and a shower of lead slammed into his centre of mass. The body armor took most of the force away, but without Rook’s plates it couldn't stop everything. He gritted his teeth as he felt that overly familiar burn, and blood started to flow. 

 

He darted to get a wall at his back, a flash blinding his assailants for just long enough. He downed one with his pistol, a headshot to another. But there were still three more, recovering quickly. 

 

Two hit the ground behind some sandbags, taking potshots at his legs, still disoriented from the flash. Blitz angled his shield awkwardly to try and stop bullets without crouching and making his head a target. 

 

That was when the third terrorist made his move. 

 

Blitz had just lined up a shot and taken down one of the shooters when he was rushed, sheer terror flooding him as he saw the Mask more clearly. He didn't have the typical bulky body armor or heavy breathing, but the explosives strapped covertly under his jacket were enough. 

 

The maniac was on him before he could react, blood loss and pain slowing his reflexes. The bomber grabbed his pistol and pulled, and Blitz felt something in his wrist give out as his gun was ripped from his grasp.

 

There was the sound of beeping, getting louder. 

 

With all the strength he had, fuelled by fear and panic, Blitz did all he could think of and quite literally  _ threw _ the terrorist at his fellows. For the second time, he was deafened, and the shockwave forced him to the ground. 

 

Where the terrorists and sandbags once were, there was nothing, not a trace left of any human life at all. It was like the explosion had deleted them from reality. 

 

It was all over in a matter of seconds, but he felt drained. His pistol was vaporised, and his side was bleeding, and he was in an unexpected enemy stronghold without immediate allies. 

 

And so Blitz backed himself into a corner, put his shield up, and waited. Every now and then he heard footsteps or the idle chatter of the Masks through the walls, and he huddled down and hoped no-one would see him. 

 

Minutes dragged on, and all he could do was apply pressure and think of the cats. 

 

Jäger was trying to teach Magpie how to fetch and catch things out of the air (as though naming her after his ADS wasn't enough), though she almost stubbornly refused to learn, instead preferring to investigate every inch of the GR in her own, haphazard way. 

 

To combat this, IQ started teaching Spectre to find hidden objects that emitted certain, high-pitch frequencies, and the tortoiseshell was proving much more successful than her black and sister. 

 

Blackie, when she wasn't hiding in awkward places, was delivering stolen goods (from other operatives, no less!) by leaving them in Bandit’s shoes. She took socks, pens, pocket change, whatever she could drag with her. No matter how well they locked and guarded the GR, she always managed to sneak out and drop off more binder clips and shoelaces the next day. Bandits was adamant that he had nothing to do with it. 

 

And then there was Donner, his cat. Simple plain grey and long, soft fur, perfect for petting. He might not have chosen the name or kitten himself, but there was no denying that Donner was  _ his _ . The others loved their cats, and he adored their antics too, but Donner meant  _ more _ .

 

He wasn't distractible like Magpie, or aloof like Spectre, or skittish like Blackie. He was calm and friendly and affectionate, always purring and begging to be held or pampered. Donner was relaxing, soothing,  _ stabilising _ , in a way that not much was. 

 

There, bleeding out and unarmed in the basement of a terrorist controlled building, Blitz longed for stability more than anything else. 

 

His adrenaline had long faded, and he curled up more protectively when he heard someone coming his way, and fast. Hazy with exhaustion, he barely recognised a fellow operative in time and just managed to not reflexively blind him. 

 

“Blitz, we've cleared the building completely and diffused the bombs,” came Glaz’ welcome voice. He kept his words positive and unconcerned, and even though Blitz was aware that this was the standard way to treat someone in shock, it still helped. “Are you hurt?”

 

Blitz nodded, neck protesting the movement, and finally let his shield drop. “Shot,” he said simply, shifting out of his cramped position to let Glaz closer. “There was a--a bomber, but different! He had--”

 

“We'll worry about that later, okay? Now, I have some gauze and tape, so…” Glaz retrieved the items and smiled at some sort of private joke. “...let's heal that boo boo.”

 

All at once, Blitz relaxed, tension and fear he didn't realise he had leaving him as Glaz gently removed his hand from the wound and did a quick field patch-up. Still woozy and unfocused, he only managed to say, “That's my line, Glaz” as the Russian all but carried him out of the basement. 

 

And once they reached the stairs, he was carefully handed over to Montagne, who  _ did _ carry him, leaving Glaz with the shield. Blitz’ world continuously slid in and out of focus, and fatigue drained on him more and more, but he couldn't bring himself to panic. Maybe it was the blood loss impairing his critical thinking skills, but truthfully it was an unshakable, core belief that no matter what, his comrades, his brothers in arms, his  _ friends _ wouldn't let him die. 

 

They didn't let him down. 

 

\---------------------------

 

Bandit really,  _ really _ needed to teach Blitz how to stop getting shot so much.

 

He knew, of course, that as soon as he brought up the idea of maybe staying away from the immediate line of fire that Blitz would protest and adamantly declare that his duty was to take bullets meant for the team and all that other heroic nonsense. Though, Blitz wouldn’t call it heroic and would instead say something about “honour” and “purpose”, as though everyone was just as willing to risk life and limb as he was.

 

Blitz was unconscious by the time the operatives returned to base, and watching his friend get hurriedly rushed into medical yet gain was not something Bandit was hoping for when he got up that morning.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Glaz told him in passing as he began the process of cleaning and maintaining his rifle. “He’ll be up soon. Maybe not going out on ops, but at least up.”

 

At the very least, Glaz didn’t lie. Blitz regained consciousness rapidly once the bleeding stopped and real stitches were put in place, and even persuaded the nurses to let him have a neon yellow brace for his wrist. Promising good behaviour, though dizzy and weak, he determinedly was allowed to leave medical to sleep in his own bed.

 

Come nightfall, however, Blitz wasn’t exactly where he was supposed to.

 

“You need to sleep, Eli,” IQ said, gingerly pushing on his shoulder. “I know Donner is cute, but he’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

“I can  _ sleep  _ tomorrow,” Blitz whined, resolutely cuddling with his cat. He had been stalling in the GR with the cats for over an hour and a half, refusing to go to bed even when threatened by Bandit. He scratched a Donner’s ears, and the cat curled up happily, forming a fluffy grey ball with gold eyes and a loud purr. “I want to spend time with my cat.”

 

IQ thought for a moment, and then came up with one of the the dumber ideas of her life. It was something Jäger would come up with if he were drunk and stole some of Bandit’s “aspirin” for good measure. It was guaranteed to get all four of them in serious trouble, as well as the four cats, and nothing good would come of it.

 

But it would also get Blitz to smile and finally go to sleep.

 

Taking the plunge, she carefully picked Donner up from Blitz’ lap. He pouted, but grinned wildly once he heard the plan. “How about you sleep with Donner, then? We’ll just take him into our room and you can snuggle with him all you want.”

 

It was a testament to the strength of the painkillers that Blitz agreed without any fuss or worry at all, only giddy excitement and adorable innocence. IQ herded him into their quarters and helped him find a position that wouldn’t pull at his stitches, before placing Donner down halfway on his chest. The cat seemed to understand that his human was injured and carefully flopped around until he was comfortably nestled between Blitz’ chest and arm, not taking his usual place on Blitz’ stomach. 

 

Blitz just smiled blissfully as he stroked Donner with his good hand, slowly closing his eyes as his breathing leveled out. Jäger and Bandit, lying in bed but still awake, looked on with a mix of puzzlement and concern.

 

“If someone sees this, we’ll be in serious trouble,” Bandit warned, peering over the top of his phone. “I can’t lie  _ that _ well.”

 

“Look at how cute he is!” Jäger cooed quietly, propping himself up to see better.

 

“It’s the long fur,” Bandit said.

 

“I was talking about Blitz, but the cat’s nice too, I guess.”

 

“Just remember to put Donner back in the GR in the morning and no one will be any the wiser.” IQ said as much for her own benefit as for Jäger’s and Bandit’s. “It'll all work out fine.”

 

\-------------------------

 

If there was ever one positive to go with being injured, it was that you could sleep in as long as you'd like. Blitz woke up groggy but feeling mostly rested, aside from the general leftover malaise that came with any trauma. He happily snuggled back into his bed once he remembered that he was cleared of all responsibilities, and felt Donner shift above him. Some time in the night the cat must have switched positions because now he was lying right across Blitz’ throat like a living boa. 

 

Through wild guessing (and by noting how hungry he was), Blitz estimated it was sometime in the afternoon. He would've loved to lie in bed all day with Donner, but his painkillers had worn off and now even slight shifts made him hiss. Abdominal wounds were no joke. 

 

“Here,” someone said gently, and a pill was placed in his hand. After he put it in his mouth, a glass of water came next. “Careful, move slowly,” he was warned as he sat up enough to drink properly. 

 

“Thanks, Glaz,” he mumbled, before freezing as he realised what he said. 

 

“No need to worry,” the Russian said, sitting down on IQ’s bed. “I'm not here to get you in trouble. I was just… concerned.”

 

“Hm?” Blitz let himself relax, Donner plopping himself on his chest after being so rudely disturbed. 

 

“When I saw you lying there, I… You looked like death, Blitz. Pale and terrified. I was shaken, because you are always so, so lively as a person.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “I know it's rude of me to be here, in your personal space, but you've been asleep for over seventeen hours, and all I could think of was you in that corner.” Glaz smiled, looking up through his eyelashes. “But I see I have nothing to worry about, because you have a fearsome tiger guarding you.”

 

“Yeah, about that…” Blitz chuckled sheepishly. “Could you keep that quiet? No pets allowed, I know, but the cats are really sweet…”

 

“I know,” Glaz said, almost smugly, reaching around to something behind him. “I noticed the door even through all the clutter you have to hide it. I opened it and found three more cats, and the answer to why you Germans have the most personal belonging of anyone on base.”

 

“Can you keep that quiet, too?” Blitz said weakly, caught between amusement and shame. 

 

“Easily,” Glaz said, and produced a plate of eggs, toast, and sliced fruit. “It might be a little cold,” he said, handing it over to Blitz and helping the man once more return to an upright position, much to Donner’s displeasure. 

 

The food was room temperature, but perfectly good, and Blitz ate quickly, using his braced forearm as a shield to stop Donner from stealing. Halfway through his very late breakfast, the door opened, and Jäger entered. 

 

He double-taked. “I step out for ten minutes and the Russians invade!” Then, realising the larger issue at hand, his face went pale. “Oh God, Glaz, please--”

 

“I can keep secrets,” Glaz assured him, standing up from the bed and moving to lean against the far wall. “But I think you might not need to keep this one…”

 

“No pets allowed,” Blitz and Jäger said in unison. 

 

“Maybe not, but civilian clothing was not always permitted either.” Glaz tilted his head and closed his eyes, thinking. “You and Sledge share a birthday, Blitz, don't you?”

 

“It is coming up,” Blitz said, finished with his meal and letting Donner eat what little remained. “Not sure if I'm looking forward to getting older, but a party is always nice.”

 

“Whatever you're planning,” Jäger said, snapping to get Glaz’ attention, “let's run it by Bandit first to see if it's a good idea.”

 

\--------------------

 

“... and Glaz thinks it will work out okay.”

 

“If I play my cards right on April first, it certainly could.”

 

\-----------------------

 

April First was always a tense time for Rainbow Six operatives. With so many gadgeteers and pranksters, it was a guarantee that someone would be victimised. 

 

Bandit, naturally, was legendary for his (sometimes quite painful) pranks, followed closely by Jäger and Blitz, who happily followed his lead on such occasions. It was he who evoked the most fear wherever he went, especially with his unusually good mood. 

 

Of course, Glaz’ idea changed up his plans some, but he wasn't going let something like that ruin his good fun. Sitting in the common area, he basked in the wary looks from his suspicious colleagues. 

 

He heard someone approach from just outside his field if view. “Uh, hey Bandit.” It was Rook. Bandit tilted his slightly to look at him. The young Frenchman seemed nervous, eyes flicking from side to side. “Some people say they saw you around last night carrying mice, and I--”

 

“You trust me, don't you, Rook?” Bandit asked. Rook reflexively answered with ‘yes’, and Bandit smiled and continued, “Then trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

 

Strangely, that comforted the younger man, who relaxed his wary posture and smiled warmly back. “Oh, good. I thought you might've put them in my shoes, or something.”

 

“What's this about mice and shoes?” IQ asked, joining the conversation as she made her way over. She sat down, concerned and giving Bandit a long-suffering glare. He ignored her.  

 

“There  _ were _ mice, though,” Bandit said, noticing how Rook stiffened again. “Just, I'm not the one who's going to be putting them in your shoes.”

 

Utterly dumbfounded, Rook simply nodded as IQ made a “He's drunk” motion behind Bandit’s back. 

 

And so the day went on thusly, with each of the Germans (plus Glaz) having a different style of introducing the idea of mice being put in shoes, or having animals keep watch while everyone was on an op, or even starting a small mammal smuggling ring for some side money. Bandit had his characteristic ominous vagueness combined with casual indifference; IQ managed to work it smoothly into conversation and deflect any questions; Blitz cheerfully joked while grinning and giggling like an idiot; Glaz only said something if it was a private conversation away from prying eyes and ears; Jäger announced it as a non sequitur and then promptly refused to elaborate whatsoever. 

 

All in all, a complete success (and an amusing day for Bandit). There wasn't a person on based who wasn't terrified of the notion that the Germans were planning some kind of mass chaos. And as rumours formed and exaggerated, it soon became common knowledge that Bandit was going to start an exotic pet operation to pay for drugs, and how Jäger tested the Magpie on rats and was going to dispose of the bodies via everyone’s boots.  

 

A  _ very _ successful day. 

 

\---------------------

 

Blitz’ and Sledge’s shared birthday was usually a small affair, with their units giving them a gift or two and the rest of Rainbow’s personnel recognising them for a good deed or paying a heartfelt compliment. The day closed out with the two going out for drinks together, the rest of their units pitching in to cover the (substantial) tab. 

 

This time, it ran a bit differently. 

 

Getting up late (he was still recovering from being shot, after all), Blitz entered the common area around midmorning, and was greeted by a surprising calm. Normally hectic and busy even early in the day, the common area instead had a relaxing, almost gentle atmosphere. Small groups of operatives clustered and spoke in level voices to each other, a far cry from the previous day’s paranoia. 

 

“No yelling? Nothing’s broken? Where’s the chaos? This isn't even Rainbow anymore!” Blitz said, laughing as he moved to join Rook, Twitch, and Mute, the younger operatives all focusing on something he couldn't quite see. 

 

“Shhh!” Mute put a finger to his mouth. “You'll scare her.”

 

Between them, bracketed by Rook and the wall, was Blackie, a small toy mouse in her mouth. In true Bandit fashion, she wore a dark collar with a small tag that had only her name and a lightning bolt on it, and he had somehow managed to get a bright yellow bandana around her neck. 

 

“A cat! Wow!” Blitz tried his best to sound surprised, but he could tell no one was buying it.

 

“We know you have one,” Twitch hissed, her voice low so she wouldn't startled Blackie. “You named him Donner. Seriously, do you think we're idiots?” But there was no malice in her tone, only amusement and a familiar exasperation. She and IQ must spend too much time together. 

 

“At least there are no dead rats, huh?” Blitz said with a grin, and even Rook narrowed his eyes at him. “Of all the things to be team pets, I think cats are a good choice. Not as good as badgers, but Six would  _ never _ let us get away with that.”

 

Twitch gave a startled laugh, and Blackie bolted, making a beeline to Bandit where he was leaning against a wall. Before Rook and Mute could become angry, though, Magpie trotted over to investigate the sound. The black and white cat sniffed Mute’s hand and Rook’s shoes, tried to eat Twitch’s pants, and then meowed loudly until Blitz patted her on the head. Satisfied, she wandered off. 

 

“Magpie is Jäger’s,” Twitch stated more than asked. “Why did he name her-- oh, God, why did _you_ _let_ _him_ name her after the ADS!”

 

“I was having an emotional bre... revelation and IQ named hers Spectre before we could talk him out of it.”

 

“If your plan was get everyone emotionally attached to your cats so Six wouldn't be able to take them away,” Rook said, looking around the room, “...I think it's working.”

 

“Thanks! The whole thing was Glaz’ idea.” Blitz grinned, and the three others rolled their eyes at what was surely another ridiculous joke. “Well, I'm going to go talk to Bandit. Happy Birthday!”

 

“Thank you,” Twitch said automatically, only realising after a full minute what had happened. “Oi! Get back here!” But Blitz was already with Bandit, merry as you please. 

 

“Hopefully our April Fools had the intended effect,” Bandit muttered, though the affectionate way he held and stroked Blackie undermined his threatening air.

 

“Definitely,” Jäger said in passing. “Do you know where Magpie is? I lost sight of her and don’t want her to get electrocuted.”

 

“She’s probably looking at dust or some dead bug. And what did you say about electrocution?” Blitz gave Jäger a worried look, but the other German had already left, loudly complaining about his missing cat.

 

Donner and Spectre, at least, weren’t giving anyone any trouble. The only tom of the four was happily having his tummy rubbed by Tachanka, who claimed dual ownership of the fluffy cat. Spectre was surveying the entire room from a far table, with operatives all around her trying to get the tortoiseshell’s attention. She ignored them all except to give them a cursory glance to tell if they were  _ her _ human; none were, so she remained disinterested.

 

Slowly, more and more operatives filtered into the common room even if technically they were supposed to be somewhere else. Utter fascination and quiet reigned; it was easily the most soothing and intriguing event to have happened over the last few weeks that didn’t involve the risk of dying. Just some nice, quality time spent with some animals and in the presence of friends.

 

And then Six walked in.

 

The sound of her heels was unmistakable, and every head immediately snapped up when she entered. Blitz stood at attention on reflex, and even Bandit straightened his posture as every operative followed suit. The soft chatter died off instantly, and it seemed as though the cats sensed the shift in the mood, because they too sat obediently and looked up at this new human.

 

“With all the rumours flying around yesterday,” Six began, letting her gaze linger on the Germans (Jäger didn’t notice, IQ met it determinedly, Blitz smiled sheepishly, and Bandit just flat-out grinned), “I was expecting to have to drag raccoons out of the air vents and dig dead weasels out of the potted plants.” She smiled, and Blitz wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or intimidated. “Then I arrive and find that all this panic was really just four cats and a couple of overeager gossipers.” A few operatives ducked their heads, knowing they were involved in the escalation. “I must remind you, however, that this base has a policy that clearly states:  _ no pets _ .”

 

There was immediate protest, even if it was quickly restrained and hushed down.

 

Six lifted an eyebrow. “I see how you stand on this. Well then, who found the cats?”

 

Bandit raised a hand. “The GSG 9 owns the cats,” he said. “Ma’am,” he tacked on.

 

“I didn’t ask who  _ owns _ the cats. I asked who  _ found  _ them,” Six said, and then her eyes made the short journey from Bandit to Blitz. “Blitz, you did, didn’t you?”

 

Blitz knew he should lie, should say that it was Bandit because it was  _ always _ Bandit. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“How long ago did you find them?”

 

He  _ needed _ to lie now, say something recent. “About a month and a half ago, ma’am.”

 

“And the rest of unit knew the whole time, helped you keep the secret?”

 

“No, ma’am. I only told them recently, a few days ago at most.” It startled him how easily the words came out, and they were perfectly believable judging by Six’s expression.

“And you understand, Blitz, that you are going to pay for everything these cats need out of your own pocket?”

 

Blitz brightened, sensing the shift. “Yes, ma’am! I already am. And if they cause any trouble or damage, I understand that I’ll be held accountable.”

 

Six nodded, closed her eyes, and then heaved a sigh. “Well, you did it again. I guess I’m in a lighter mood once I found that no one was skinning live animals in a back room.” She then shook her head, an amused weariness coming over her. “There are still no pets allowed on base,” she said, and there was another burst of negativity. “ _ But! _ These four cats…” She looked to Blitz, prompting.

 

Bandit was quicker to understand. “Blackie, Magpie, Spectre, and Donner.”

 

“Blackie, Magpie, Spectre, and Donner are allowed on the premise that they are now… mascots and support animals for Team Rainbow. No other, and I mean  _ no other, _ animals will be permitted in the compound, or the cats will be removed.” Six fixed the entire room with a sharp look. “Am I clear?”

 

“Yes, ma’am!”

 

“Then, enjoy your new mascots and thank you for not forcing me to call animal control.” She shook her head once more, then turned and stepped out. Before she left however, she threw a quick, “Blitz! Sledge! Happy Birthday” over her shoulder.

 

And it was a happy birthday indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was longer than intended.
> 
> Donner= thunder (because Blitz means lightning)  
> WS= workshop  
> GR= Geheimraum (secret room)
> 
> I don't know what inspired me to write this, except that I have a cat that is very cute and it needed to happen. Also, I wasn't expecting Glaz to play such an important role. I meant to only mention him once, but he kept coming back and I couldn't stop him. Ah, well, such is the creative process!


End file.
